


72 Hours in Plunketville

by JDSampson



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Small Towns, bowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23238046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDSampson/pseuds/JDSampson
Summary: When their car breaks down on the way home after closing a case, the boys are forced to spend 72 hours in the idyllic small town of Plunketville. (I don't usually post unfinished works but I thought we needed some fun and this is one of my lighter stories so . . . . I hope it brings you some joy)
Relationships: J. Allen Hynek/Michael Quinn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	1. Welcome to Plunketville

PBB: 72 Hours in Plunketville

“I got good news,” the mechanic said as he dropped the hood on the recalcitrant Buick Roadmaster. “I figured out your trouble and it’ll be a quick fix once I get the part you need.”

“Wonderful.” Quinn said around the cigarette between his lips. “Do we have time to get lunch before she’s ready?”

“Oh sure. Lunch, dinner, breakfast tomorrow and all around again.” The mechanic wandered away as if their conversation was done.

“Hang on. You said it would be a QUICK fix.”

“Once I get the part. Don’t have it in stock. Gotta order it from Raleigh and. . . “ He glanced up at the kitty cat wall clock with the wagging tale and moving eyes. “Won’t have time to deliver it today and it’s Friday.”

It took a second for Quinn’s brain to add that all up. “And they’re closed on the weekend.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew smoke. “Perfect.”

“Best I can do. But I’ll have you on your way before lunch on Monday.”

Quinn groan/growled.

“What’s going on?” Allen asked, handing Quinn one of the two cold Coke bottles he’d bought from the machine outside the mechanic shop.

“We’re stuck here until Monday.”

“Good news though,” the mechanic said as he filled out the work order. “If you’re gonna be stuck here, you picked the perfect weekend for it. Tomorrow is Plunket Day.”

“Plunket Day?” Allen repeated before sipping his Coke.

“In honor of the founder of Plunketville, Horace Plunket. He was a real renaissance man. Turned this town into a thriving community with his brilliant inventions. Like the horsecycle.”

“Horsecycle?” Quinn and Hynek said simultaneously.

“People around here grew up riding horses but as the town grew, horses became a nuisance – what with the constant cleanup and all – so Horace made the first bicycle that looked like a horse with wheels. Same experience as riding Old Nellie but you don’t have to feed it and there’s nothing to clean up.”

“Why not,” said Quinn as he chugged down half the Coke in the bottle.

“Tomorrow, we’ll have a parade and a contest for the best decorated horsecycle, a pie baking contest in honor of Horace’s famous automatic pie slicer – everyone’s guaranteed to get the same size piece. Oh, and you fellas won’t want to miss the Miss Plunket pageant. Prettiest girls from three counties will be here to compete.”

“Sounds like quite a party,” said Quinn with little enthusiasm.

The mechanic didn’t notice. “Biggest event of year around here. You’re luck. Only –”

“Here comes the bad news.” Quinn went back to his cigarette to steel himself for what was coming.

“It’s such a big event, the hotel is all booked up.”

This time it was Hynek who groaned. “So, what are we supposed to do? Sleep in the car?”

“Can’t do that,” the mechanic said, as if the doc had just suggested robbing the local bank. “My insurance man wouldn’t like nobody sleeping on the premises. But I got an idea. Hang there.” He walked off to call someone on the phone.

“I guess I better make a call, too,” Allen finished his soda. “Let Mimi know I won’t be home until late Monday. I saw a phone booth on the corner.”

Quinn caught him by the arm as he turned to go. “We’re looking at this all wrong. The car breaking down was a pain in the ass. And in Plunketville, of all places, but look at it this way. We’re going to have nearly three days with nothing to do. No UFO’s. No Generals. No obligations.”

“Other than the horsecycle parade. I don’t want to miss that.”

“Fine. We’ll attend the horsecycle parade and stick around for some pie but otherwise.” Quinn leaned in as much as he dared and locked eyes on Allen’s. “Just you and me.”

Allen’s eyes glazed over for a few seconds as his mind took a quick trip through past experiences. Quinn could tell from the near swoon. There wasn’t much to remember, only a few make-out sessions in the back seat of the car between a case and home. And two insane nights sharing the same bed in a motel – once in Texas and once in Alabama. It had been hot both times – in temperature and mood. Plunketville was further north and though the days were moderately warm, the nights were cool. Perfect for body to body contact.

Maybe this time, they could take their time. Really test out this newly found connection between them and see how far they could go. Allen needed that time. Quinn had ‘experimented’ in the past, so it wasn’t such a huge shift for him. But Allen had never been with anyone other than Mimi and Millicent – a brief fling from his high school days.

Two people and now Quinn was number three.

Quinn had done the deed with three girls and one other guy by the time he was in the middle of a war. Funny how different they were and yet how the same they felt when they were together.

“I need to make that call,” Allen said, and Quinn knew he was avoiding uttering his wife’s name. That was the hardest part of all this. Not having to keep it a secret from the world or knowing that, if found out, Quinn could be dishonorably discharged from the service, but that Allen had a wife. A wife he loved. But there was more than one kind of love in the world as Quinn had proved to him over the past few months.

Quinn let him go without comment. He finished his cigarette and dropped the butt into the nearly empty Coke bottle. The mechanic returned, took both empties and added them to a rack for the delivery man to pickup and refill.

“I found you a place to stay. Zelda Callahan has a room for you. Nothing fancy, but her twin girls are visiting their grandparents this weekend so she said she could take you in.”

“That’s very kind of her.” Was what Quinn said but he was thinking family home, not much privacy. But he’d make it work. Honestly, it wasn’t just the prospect of physical contact that was exciting him. Knowing they could simply relax and ‘be’ with each other alone or in the center of the Plunket Day madness was enticing in its own way.

Quinn gave the old Buick a pat on the hood. “Sorry for cursing at you, baby. Looks like you done good after all.”

Zelda Callahan lived in a blue and white Gothic Revival home from the mid-1800’s. It had multiple gables and intricate gingerbread trim under the rooflines and around the windows.

The garden was well-kept and in full bloom and there was a porch swing that reminded Quinn of the home he’d grown up in.

Zelda was waiting for them when they arrived. She was a chubby woman in her thirties with glasses on a chain and pink checkered apron over a blue striped dress.

“Come on in, come on in,” She ushered them both through the door like they were long lost relatives. Her kind voice and the smell of fresh baked goods were equally welcoming. “Forgive me for lookin’ a mess. I’m perfecting my pies for the contest tomorrow. Came in second last year but this year I’m going to beat Clara Williams if it’s the last thing I do. I hope you boys like pie because I’m going to need tasters since mine have abandoned me in my hour of need. The girls went off to stay with grandmom so my husband could go fishing with his dad. Imagine that. Giving up Plunket Day to go fishing!”

“We appreciate the hospitality, Mrs. Callahan. I’m Captain Michael Quinn. US Air Force.”

“Air Force, you say? My brother was in the Navy during the war, but I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

“Dr. Allen Hynek,” Allen said offering his hand.

“Well, a Doctor and an Air Force officer in my house! I’ll need to get out the good china.”

“No need,” said Quinn. “We don’t want to be any bother. We’re just happy to have a place to stay.”

“It ain’t much, I told Buddy to tell you that. Did he tell you that?”

“He did,” said Quinn falling in behind her as she led the way up the stairs. “But I’m sure it’s fine. We travel a lot for work and the motels we stop at aren’t the fanciest.”

“It’s frilly but it’s clean.”

Zelda opened the door at the top of the stairs. “Here you go.”

The room was awash of pink and white with dolls on every flat surface, ballerinas painted on the walls and bunk beds with frilly pillows and pink gingham comforters.

So much for sleeping together.

Quinn laughed. “Been a long time since I climbed into an upper bunk.”

“Not ideal, I know,” said Zelda. “But Buddy said everywhere else in town was full up.”

“It’ll be fine,” Allen assured. “Quinn’s a pilot. He likes being up high, closer to the sky.”

“A pilot! Oh my. Extra pie for you then.” She sniffed the air. “And I have one ready to come out of the oven. Settle in. Bathroom’s across the hall, clean towels in the closet to the right.” Then she went on her way.

Allen closed the door behind her, while Quinn set their overnight bags in the corner.


	2. Bunk Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunk beds! Now what?

“Bunk beds,” Allen sighed. “I guess we won’t be--” He turned and Quinn was right there, in his space, pressing him back against the door. So close, Allen could smell the mix of spicy cologne and cigarettes that had become so familiar in recent months. A nervous chill ran up Allen’s spine. “Hello.”

Quinn smiled, that wide, dimpled, wrinkle in the eyes smile that could mean he was very pleased or very angry.

“Hello.” He set his palms on the door on either side of Allen’s head and leaned in, bending his elbows like he was doing pushups. Not a kiss at first. Just a graze across his beard, over his cheek, back to his ear and down his jaw to his throat.

Allen opened his mouth to say something witty but what came out wasn’t words.

“I like that sound,” Quinn murmured against the soft skin of his throat. “Can I make you do it again?” He could. And that brought a laugh and finally an actual kiss. A deep, slow, exploratory kiss while his hands were still pressed up against the door.

Allen didn’t know what do to with his hands, so he let them hang at the end of his wrists by his side, just drifting away on what Quinn was offering.

“There are other ways, you know.” A whisper in Allen’s ear.

“Other ways?”

Quinn shifted all of his weight to his left hand then left go of the door with his right.

“Other ways to do it.” The right hand roamed down Allen’s chest, gave a playful tug on his belt then found the tab of his zipper.

Just the mere flirtation of his fingers made Allen stiffen inside his clothes. So ridiculous that Quinn – another man – could have this kind of power over him.

The zipper parted and Quinn’s hand slipped inside.

“I don’t think---”

“That’s good.” Quinn leaned his full weight against him and offered another deep kiss. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

How could he not? That warm, strong hand wrapped around him, stroking, kneading, thumb across the tip.

Allen’s knees went weak. He tried to lift his hands, to grab hold of Quinn but his arms wouldn’t cooperate. It was as if his brain was too busy with other matters to give orders to his muscles.

Quinn dragged his thumbnail over the tender skin and Allen moaned with a combination of ache and need.

“Michael.” That was all his brain could manage and then he cried out because he was so close.

“Ssh!” Quinn pushed off the wall and clamped his left hand over Allen’s mouth. “Can’t let Mrs. Callahan hear you.”

Not an inch between them. Trapped between the devil and the door. Quinn’s smirk lighting up his eyes as he quickened the action down below.

Why did this feel so different? So much more intense than what they’d done in the back of the car or a motel bed. The danger maybe? Knowing they could be caught? The position. It was both disturbing and enticing. Pinned to the wall with the weight of Quinn’s body, hand over his mouth as if he was being taken against his will.

What kind of man found pleasure in that kind of scenario? Quinn must have seen the question in his eyes or felt it in his body because he brought his lips to Allen’s ear and whispered, ‘are you good?’

Allen nodded head banging slightly against the door as his hips jerked forward pushing himself into Quinn’s hands.

Quinn laughed and met his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Allen swallowed the moans that were rising in his throat, but a few sounds made it past his lips and Quinn’s hand. Soft, needy whimpers that sounded so strange to his own ears. Begging without words. Complete and utter surrender.

“Let go, Doc.” Quinn’s voice was deep and whiskey warm and wet with little clicking sounds at the end of each word.

That finished him. Even though it felt wrong and wanton and messy – Allen let go. Still, it wasn’t easy. It was painful and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel. His eyes rolled back, and the room took a turn.

Quinn’s arms encircled him and then he was sitting on the lower bunk.

“Easy, Doc.” Gentle fingers stroked his face. A kiss pressed to his knuckles.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just. . . that was. . . “ There were no words. Not just in Allen’s head. He was convinced there were no words in the English language to describe what had just happened.

“I meant easy, Doc as in, you’re so easy.” Quinn plucked a dozen tissues out of a box on the dresser and handed half to Allen. “I’m going to go wash up and get some pie. You might want to change.”

Then he laughed and it gave Allen a fresh burst of energy.

72 hours in Plunketville – this was going to be fun.


	3. Bowling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean you've never gone bowling, doc!

“You’ve never been bowling?”

“I’ve been,” Allen corrected. “I’ve just never actually bowled. Joel’s scout troop went a couple of times and I went along just to keep score. Math is more ‘up my alley’.”

“Still not funny.” Quinn tested out a few of the ball options then chose a handsome, jade green marbled ball.

“I’m surprised that you’re interested in bowling.”

“Why?”

“I just see you doing something more. . . athletic. Baseball, for example.”

“I played baseball in high school. It was okay. But I was stationed on this base just after the war that had its own bowling alley and I couldn’t get enough. Stick your fingers in.”

“Excuse me?”

“The ball. Stick your fingers in the ball, we need to find one that fits you.”

“I didn’t know there were options.” Allen tried the closest ball and found out there were indeed options and this one was way too small for him. He tried the next and the next until Quinn declared it a good fit.

“You know what I love most about bowling?” Quinn said, leading the way to the lane. “The sound.”

“It’s loud.”

“It is but it’s also dynamic. When two or three balls are rolling down that alley it’s like the sound of a jet engine roaring to life.”

“I can see that,” Allen said, raising his voice to be heard above said noise. Then he jumped a little when one ball then the next took out ten pins between them.

“I can tell how many pins went down just by the sound.” Quinn walked toward the throwline. Stopped to exhibit perfect form then sent his ball down the alley. It veered left at the last minute taking out only three pins. “I’m rusty.”

Quinn sent the ball down the alley a second time. Again, it curved but he’d adjusted for it and it took down another four pins.

“Interesting.” Allen studied the lane a moment. “Did you know that bowling represents all three of Newton’s Laws of Motion.”

“I did not know that. Give it a try.”

Allen walked up to the line, gave his arm a swing and sent a bouncer straight into the gutter.

“It’s harder than it looks,” Quinn said giving Allen a conciliatory pat on the back. “Try again.”

The next ball he threw made it almost to the pins before landing in the gutter.

Quinn stepped up again, focused and threw the ball from a farther left position so it hooked and took out all ten.

“Strike! Yes!”

“Interesting,” Allen said again.

“More laws?” Quinn asked with a slight eye roll.

“Physics, actually. Logically, a person new to the game would try to throw the ball so it hits the first pin dead on but it’s clear that you can achieve a much greater angle of impact if you use a parabolic path.”

“Sure.” Quinn pushed the ball into Allen’s hands. “You’re up.”

Another gutter ball. Followed by one pin off the end.

“This isn’t fun,” Allen complained.

“Let me help you.” Quinn stepped up behind Allen then used his body to force Allen’s body into the proper position. “Relax.” He whispered so close to Allen’s ear as his arm became one with Allen’s arm. “Smooth and easy.”

“Michael.” Allen nodded toward the people in the next lane.

“What? I’m just helping you with your form. Now slide your leg back.”

Allen started to then stopped abruptly. “You need to change your aftershave.”

“Why? Don’t you like it?”

“The opposite, actually. Just the scent of it.” He turned suddenly and pushed the ball into Quinn’s hands. “I need to. . . I’ll be. . . right back.” Allen dashed off to the men’s room.

Quinn thought about following him but being caught with so much as a kiss in a public bathroom would land them both in jail for lewd conduct. He set the ball down on the rack and when he looked up he saw the two young women in the next lane were eyeing him. They whispered and giggled and for a second he had a terrible feeling that he’d gone to far with Allen. Had revealed to much.

“Ladies.” He tipped is invisible hat to them and that started another round of giggles between them.

“You’re that Air Force Captain, aren’t you?”

At first, he was confused, then he remembered – small towns.

“Captain Michael Quinn, at your service.”

The blond with the curves was brave enough to step forward while her dark-haired friend hung back.

“I’m Betty Lou Stephenson and this is Amanda Jane Conner. We heard there were celebrities in town, but we certainly never expected to run into you at the Bowl and Beer.”

“Just taking the evening off.”

“From hunting aliens!” This from Amanda Jane. “That’s what we heard. That you and your friend hunt aliens.”

“We investigate sightings, that’s correct but we’re not here on business. Car broke down and we’re stuck for the weekend.”

“Well, you’re darned lucky then. Tomorrow is Plunket Day.”

“So we heard.”

Betty Lou stepped right up to Quinn and was sampling his aftershave when Allen returned.

“Have they asked you about being a judge yet?”

“Judge?” Allen asked, making three a crowd.

“For the Miss Plunket pageant. I’m a contestant. So is Amanda Jane but—“ Betty Lou rolled her eyes and her hips. “It would be so nice to have an impartial judge for a change. The locals they always get vote for their friend’s daughters. A girl like me doesn’t have a chance in heck of winning. Now if you were to judge. . . “

“No one’s asked,” Allen said, moving to cut off Miss Betty Lou’s reach. “But even if they did—”

“We’d say yes,” Quinn said, cutting him off. “It would be an honor.”

“Well, then, I’ll go call Mr. Pebbles right now. He’s in charge of the pageant and I’ll make sure he extends that invitation. Will you be at Mrs. Callahan’s later this evening?”

“We will and I guess we’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Betty Lou waved with her whole body before grabbing her girlfriend into a conspiratory huddle and together they giggled their way out of hearing range..

“You really want to judge a beauty pageant?” Allen asked leaning close to Quinn to be heard over the sound of balls hitting pins.

“Sure, why not? Sounds like fun.”

Allen frowned his most, ‘I don’t want to hear that’ frown.

“Doc, don’t worry. Pretty girls may parade by, but I only have eyes for you.”

“If you start singing, I’m going to throw up.” Allen went back to the ball rack ready to give this bowling thing another try.

“Uh, Doc?” Quinn stepped in close again and spoke as quietly as he could and still be heard over the noise. “When you went to the men’s room, did you. . . “

Allen blushed a lovely shade of rose red. “Can we just bowl, please?”

Quinn laughed and gave his shoulder a bump. “Bowl away.”

And they did until Allen’s arm was sore and Quinn was tired from laughing. They capped off the experience with a couple of beers from the drink side of the Bowl and Beer. Both rounds were paid for by the locals who were excited to have celebrities in their midst.

“Two years ago, Farmer Fred was here to judge the hog calling contest. He has that kid’s show on the station out of Raleigh. Biggest celebrity we ever had in Plunketville but he don’t hold a candle to two fellas who hunt aliens for a living.”

Quinn felt like he should be wearing a spacesuit with a laser gun in his holster but still. . . free beer.

Dusk draped itself over the town as they walked back to Mrs. Callahan’s. There was still plenty going on as the folks decorated the streets and set up stalls for the festival.

Plunket Popcorn. A horsecycle themed spin the wheel game of chance. Franny’s Fudge and a kissing booth.

“No,” Allen said, grabbing Quinn’s arm and steering him away. “Agreeing to judge the beauty pageant is bad enough.”

Quinn shrugged. “I’m not a painter but I still appreciate the beauty of a Rembrandt.”

“I’m sure Betty Jane would be thrilled to find herself in the same category as a great work of art.”

“Betty Lou. Amanda Jane was her friend.” Quinn’s gaze wandered off and landed on something across the street where they were setting up the mini-horsecycle racetrack for small children. A man and a woman were pressed close together with a baby between them. She was cooing over the child and he was stroking her hair. A boy of about five ran over with a terrier nipping at his heels. The man picked up the boy and for a moment they were all standing together – the image of a perfect, happy American family.

Allen tugged on Quinn’s arm again. “Come on. Mrs. Callahan is making a special supper for us and we’re going to be late.”

Quinn tore his eyes off the family but the joy that had been on his face earlier in the walk was gone. “This place reminds me of the town I grew up in. We had this cereal festival in June. When I was a kid, it was the best weekend ever. Rides and a parade and a circus sideshow. When I got older, I thought it was stupid and I refused to go. I told my mother I’d rather sit on tacks than participate. She got so mad at me. Said it was a family event and we were going as a family, like it or not. I went but I made sure she knew I was miserable and pretty much ruined the day for everyone. Now, I’d sit on tacks if I could go back there for one afternoon.”

“You are going back there – tomorrow. Plunket Day will be your Cereal Day. It’ll be fun and you won’t have to sit on any tacks.” Allen chanced stroking his hand down Quinn’s back – fairly sure that it would look like he was brushing something off his friend’s coat or guiding him to turn at the corner.

Quinn softened at the touch, a slight smile returning to his lips. “Everyone here is so innocent. It would be hard to have a family now, knowing what I know. I mean, how can you let your child walk off to school in the morning without worrying that you might never see him again?”

You did because you had to. Because there was no other choice but Allen didn’t have the words to explain that right now. Now, he was feeling the tug, the longing for home and family. And that was a reminder of all that would be lost if he wasn’t careful. Careful with Blue Book. Careful with Quinn.

God damn it. It was supposed to be a fun weekend and now. . .

“Sorry,” Quinn said as they rounded the corner on to Mrs. Callahan’s block. “No more of that. For the rest of our stay here, we are going to enjoy all that Plunketville has to offer.”

Including Mrs. C’s juicy pot roast with new potatoes, garden vegetables and fresh baked bread with butter and honey. For dessert, they were each given a piece of both Strawberry Rhubarb pie and Peanut Butter and Banana cream pie. Mrs. C couldn’t decide which one to enter in the pie contest, so she needed a vote. Quinn went for Peanut Butter and Banana, but Allen preferred the Strawberry Rhubarb.

Gosh darn. No help at all!


	4. You're my everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunk beds be damned - the boys have their time together.

After dinner, they offered to do the washing up and Mrs. Callahan agreed because her bursitis was acting up after making pies all day. Plus, she had to get up at 5 in the morning in order to bake the actual entries for the contest.

Quinn washed (after complaining that Allen wasn’t doing a thorough enough job) and Allen dried.

They worked in comfortable silence, occasionally touching fingers to fingers as a fork was handed over for drying and an errant spoon went back to Quinn for washing.

Quinn was on the last pot when he laughed out loud for no reason at all.

“What?” Allen asked, gazing out the window above sink, thinking his partner must have seen something humorous out the window.

“Nothing. I just.” A goofy smile lit up Quinn’s face which warmed Allen’s heart.

“Now I have to know. What’s so funny.”

Quinn finished the pot then turned to hand it to Allen to dry. “I just had this image in my head of you in a frilly apron, standing over the stove. I come in after a hard day at the office. ‘Hi, honey, I’m home.” He stepped closer with a quick glance at the doorway. “What’s for dinner?”

Allen felt his cheeks bloom at the nearness and the familiarity. “If you ever have to depend on me to cook, you better have a forgiving stomach. Cooking is a skill I’ve never mastered.”

“Look at that, the great Allen Hynek admitting there’s something he doesn’t know.” Quinn leaned in for a very fast kiss. “I think we’re done here. I’m going to go outside for a smoke and I’ll meet you in our room in a few minutes.”

Which was Quinn code for, I need some thinking time alone.

“Don’t be too long.” Allen laid the now wet dishtowel out to dry then left the kitchen.

He went straight up to the bedroom, changed into his pajamas – the blue ones with the white piping, brushed his teeth, then peeled back the frilly pink coverlet on the lower bunk. After a moment, he climbed one rung on the ladder and peeled back the covers on the upper bunk, too.

Bunk beds.

Since the beds were twin size, there was no way two grown men could fit on one, not even entangled in each other’s arms. It was going to be tough enough for Quinn who liked to stretch out when he slept. Allen tended to be more of a fetal position sleeper so the short length wasn’t a problem for him.

He checked his watch for no reason. Mentally calculated the time back home for no reason. Then took off his glasses and set them and his watch carefully on the bedside table. There was a porcelain doll on the table. And two more on the rocking chair next to that. Next thing he knew he was counting. 4, 5, 6, 9, 12, 13!

Thirteen dolls in the room. An uneven number which bothered him because – twins! That meant one girl had one more doll than the other. Or did it?

And why was he even thinking about dolls and ballerinas, and –

The door opened and Quinn stepped in.

“What?” He asked immediately upon seeing Allen’s disconcerted expression.

“Dolls.”

“Yes. There are dolls. It’s a girl’s bedroom.” Quinn toed off his shoes, put his socks inside them, then lined them up neatly near the rocking chair.

“Thirteen. There are thirteen dolls – that we can see. There could be more in the closet or under the bed.” Allen checked under the bed.

“You counted.” Quinn stripped off his shirt then moved on to his pants.

“I was waiting for you and – it was something to do.”

“Count the dolls while you waited for me.” He folded both the shirt and pants neatly and laid them on the seat of the rocking chair in front of two of said dolls. “You’re very strange, you know that.”

“So I’ve been told.” Allen eyed the scary clown doll that was slumped on its side on the floor by the dresser.

“Doc.”

That pulled him back to center. Back to Quinn who was standing in front of him. Since Allen was seated on the lower bunk his eyeline fell just above Quinn’s groin. Bare chested, boxers with a light crosshatch pattern and ---

A rush of warmth ran through his body as he recalled the way Quinn had pinned him to the door. How he’d covered his mouth to keep him quiet while working him to the peak with his other hand.

“A little turnabout?” Allen asked, trying to be witty but it came out all dry and anxious.

In answer, Quinn slipped his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, pulled the elastic out a little then guided them over his hips. They fell the rest of the way to the floor on their own power where all he had to do was step out and push them aside.

Knowing Quinn, it was probably killing him to leave them laying on the floor in a heap. He was careful with his clothes. Always neat and precise. Allen didn’t give him a chance to ponder the discarded underwear. He took hold of the Captain’s stiff member and gave it one long stroke.

Quinn grabbed hold of the rails of the upper bunk which stretched his torso and accentuated the muscle – a beautifully strung violin waiting to be played.

“Hand is good, doc. Mouth is better.”

He could do that. It always took a moment, to switch off the part of his brain that said this was weird or wrong but switch he did and was soon rewarded with near purring sound tumbling over Quinn’s lips.

Quinn moved his feet outward slight, spaced his hands out a little more, muscles taut as he fought to keep from thrusting his hips. Allen looked up and saw the Captain’s handsome face tucked chin to chest, eyes closed, lips parted.

Fuck, he looked like a Greek God and all Allen wanted to do was please him. So he worked at it until the purring sound became a growl and Quinn couldn’t hold still any longer.

“Doc. I . . . oh fuck.” Too loud. He bit his lip to stop the next curse word but it had the effect of capping a bottle of shaken seltzer. If the energy couldn’t manifest as words, it had to manifest another way – as tremors running up and down the length of his body.

Quinn thrust forward, unable to stop himself and it caught Allen off guard for a second. He pulled back and coughed and Quinn’s eyes flew open, true contrition on his face.

“I’m sorry. It’s hard to hold still when you’re. .. fuck.” Quieter this time.

“Do you want to move? A different position?” He just wanted it to be right. Wanted his Captain to be pleased.

“No. This is. . . “ Quinn met his gaze and the most lascivious smile lifted his lips. “I like this. Holding on. Over you. Not on your knees, so you can make it last. If I can last.”

Allen took him whole.

Quinn threw his head back and arched into it and this time Allen didn’t let go. In fact, he dug in hands roaming over the Captains backside and taut thighs. Urging him forward as he worked him with his tongue and teeth.

Allen had learned it all from Quinn himself. Memorizing his moves then testing the same in return. With some trial and error, he found that Quinn responded to the gentle but firm scrape of his teeth. While Allen found teeth to be a bit disconcerting, preferring tongue and lips and suction.

Allen also preferred it when Quinn didn’t hesitate but made quick work of it. His dear Captain, on the other hand, adored the tease, the slow build, being made to wait for release. Wait to be told it was allowed – a concept Allen had trouble wrapping his brain around at first. Holding it in was tough enough, but putting that call entirely in your lover’s hands. .. . well that was tantamount to torture.

“Doc,” Quinn panted out the words. “I need. . . please.”

Ready to come. Allen could see it in his face. Feel it in his body. But he’d learned to play the game so he said, “not yet.”

Allen took him in his mouth once more as a single finger found a home around back. His own member was swollen hard inside his pajamas and Allen toyed with the idea of finishing this from behind but they were both too far gone.

“Doc, I can’t. . . “

It was clear that Quinn was at the end of endurance. Muscles shaking, knees buckling. One hand came down from the upper bunk rail and gripped Allen’s shoulder instead.

“Quietly,” Allen reminded. “You have my permission to come.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Quinn let go. Barely time for Allen to get his mouth around him again, to catch what he could. It was intense, even frightening for a few seconds, but he held on. Because they couldn’t be any closer, any more intimate and these moments – so brief and far between – were the moments that sustained him back in the mundane world.

Captain Michael Quinn had given him this. . . thing. . . that he had no words for. But whatever it was, it was sweet and exciting and scintillating and fulfilling. It was as close to heaven as a human being could get on this earth and Allen never wanted it to end.

A strong, warm hand stroked his cheek and slipped under his chin, then Quinn was right there, kneeling in front of him.

“You, Allen Hynek, are my everything.” He leaned in for a kiss. Wide and searching but gentle compared to what they’d just done. When Quinn broke the kiss, he sat back on his heels like a supplicant before his master. “Now that I’m down here, can I do something for you?”

Allen shook his head. “That was for me as much as you.”

“Okay.” Quinn retrieved his discarded boxers and stood in one fluid motion. He slipped them on then eyed the upper bunk. “I have a serious need to lay down.”

“Me, too.”

Quinn climbed the ladder and arranged himself as best he could in the child size bed.

Allen turned off the light then climbed under the covers of the lower bunk.

“Michael.”

“Hmm?”

“There is something you can do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Tell them you’re not able to judge the Miss Plunketville pageant.”

A small laugh in the dark. “Don’t worry, Doc. Betty Lou may be pretty but I bet she can’t even spell UFO.”

“You like ‘em smart, do you?”

“I do, Doc. I truly do.”


End file.
